by Annie Murray
The rose garden was square and immaculately maintained, with beds all round the edge, a path running round inside them, and two large beds of roses in the middle. Between them was a long lozenge-shaped patch of grass. Though the two benches along the side received the most sun, Maryann spread her cardigan on the grass and lay down. She was tired and longed to lie in the sun, have a snooze and relax after all the hard work of the week.
It was very hot. Lying back with her eyes closed she felt immediately drowsy. Somewhere in the far distance she could hear a tapping noise, a mallet on a wooden post, which seemed to echo on the air, and closer by there were the sounds of birds and buzzing insects. The sun’s rays beat down on her face and she began to fall asleep straight away.
It took her a few moments to notice that the sun had gone in and a shadow had fallen across her. She put a hand up to shield her face and open one eye, then sat up with a horrible start. Evan was standing, straddling the place where her feet had been, hands on his waist, staring down at her.
Maryann wrapped her arms tight round herself in protection.
‘What’re yer doing creeping up on me?’ She tried to sound angry and commanding but her voice had gone squeaky.
Evan lolled down on the grass beside her, shuffling up close so that Maryann had to lean away from him.
‘I saw you come down here. Don’t seem to be able to find you on your own these days, Maryann.’
‘What d’yer want?’ As if she didn’t know. She edged away from him.
‘You’re a funny one you, aren’t you?’ He sat back, leaning on his hands and looking at her. He sounded reasonable.
‘Am I?’
He leaned towards her again and she felt his hot breath on her cheek. ‘Look, there’s not much time around ’ere, is there? Why can’t you stop being so prim and proper and enjoy yourself while it’s on offer?’
Maryann was all knotted up inside and her limbs had gone weak. She pulled her chin down on to her knees. ‘I don’t want it, Evan.’
‘Come on—’ He budged closer and started to play with her hair. ‘You just need to get started.’
A moment later his other hand slid in behind her knees, feeling for her breast, and she felt his lips on her ear.
‘Come on, girl – I’ve got something for you in ’ere—’ He pressed his body hard against her, pinching her breast as he did so. ‘Why don’t we go up to your room and I’ll show you? No one’ll see.’
‘Oh, get off!’ Maryann launched herself to her feet, catching Evan off balance and leaving him sprawled on his side. ‘Get yer dirty ’ands off of me. I don’t want yer touching me.’
She saw a really ugly look come over Evan’s face that chilled her. ‘You’re not normal, you, you know that? Not a proper girl at all.’ His top lip curled in a snarl of disgust.
‘Leave me alone—’ She was growing distraught. ‘Whatever I am, just leave me alone. I don’t want yer anywhere near me. Go and make up to Alice – she’ll ’ave yer like a shot. But if you come near me again I’ll go to Mrs Letcombe and I’ll get you sent away from ’ere.’
‘She won’t listen to you!’
It was Maryann’s turn to stand over him. ‘Oh, you’re wrong there, Evan. I’ve been ’ere a hell of a sight longer than you have and Mrs Letcombe’s been good to me. So you keep yer filthy hands to yourself from now on.’
She snatched up her cardigan, determined not to let Evan see that her legs and hands were trembling, and strode back to the house.
As the summer passed in the usual way, events in the wider world seemed very distant from Charnwood House and its inhabitants. Mrs Lydia Musson sat every afternoon with a shawl round her shoulders and her feet up on a stool reading a newspaper, so the hunger marches from the north of England and the rise of Fascist groups constituted some of the drawing-room conversation. But they were not a highly political family. And Maryann was barely aware of the world outside Charnwood and its small domestic dramas.
Evan continued to smirk at her and make snide remarks, but he had not made any more attempts to touch her or kiss her and gradually Maryann could relax again a little. But the inner calm that she had possessed for the last years had deserted her. She felt restless and lonely. Ruth was to be married in a few weeks, but no one had said a word about who was to replace her as lady’s maid. A year ago Maryann would have been on pins with anxiety about this, she had wanted the post so badly for so long. But now she began to find Charnwood confining. She loved her afternoon off and made sure every week now that she went out, into the town to the shops and for a wander along the cut to see the boats being loaded and unloaded. She liked the bustle, the smells and sounds, and the way the canal made her feel connected to things again, instead of buried alive at Charnwood. For that was how it was coming to feel.
The turmoil inside her that she had avoided for so long was returning to her like an old family chest being opened. Norman, Sal, Joel and her brothers. Round and round in her head. And her own future. Was there happiness waiting for her somewhere else? Would she be capable, after all, of love?
Ruth was married on a Saturday at the church in the nearest village and the staff were allowed leave to attend the service before coming back to Charnwood for a celebratory meal. Ruth, as ever, looked calm and serene; her long, dark hair was knotted beautifully and she wore a simple cream dress. Her husband, tall and blond, kept looking at her as if he couldn’t believe his luck. The two of them left for Banbury in a horse and trap decorated with garlands of flowers, to begin their married life. Both the servants and those of the family who were at home came to wave them off. Maryann saw Roland shake hands rather awkwardly with Ruth. Pamela flung her arms round her tearfully and Mrs Musson slipped a little package into her hand. Maryann kissed her and wished her every happiness.
‘I hope some of you’ll come and see us,’ Ruth said, kissing and hugging everyone. ‘We’re not far away, but I’ll miss you.’
It had been announced that Ruth was to be replaced by a young woman called Eve. As Mrs Letcombe told them, Maryann experienced a pang of envy and disappointment, closely followed by relief and a surprising sense of freedom. If she’d been given the job, somehow in her mind it would have tied her to Charnwood, when in her heart she could feel the stirrings of change.
Thirty-One
That week, when Maryann walked into Banbury, she didn’t even get as far as the shops. Slipping along the side streets, she found herself heading for the cut. More and more now, she found herself thinking about the past.
She went past the Strugglers Arms and down to the cut, walking on the towpath for a time. There were horse boats and motor boats on the go. She stood aside every now and then to let a horse go past pulling one of the boats. The smells of the water, the hot horse scent, the water splashing on the sides of the cut and the sunlight glaring on the ripples all filled her with a great sense of nostalgia and excitement. When she’d walked a way along, tied up on her side of the cut she saw a family boat called Miss Dolly, a rather scruffy vessel with chipped red and yellow paint. From the back on the steering platform peered three young children and Maryann heard a woman’s voice shouting crossly to them from inside the cabin. Several others were playing along the bank and there was a string of threadbare clothes, stained grey with coal dust, strung on a washing line along the boat.
Maryann smiled at the children in the boat and said, ‘’Ello there, awright?’
‘’Ow do!’ one of then chirruped back. The older ones were throwing stones into the cut with little plopping noises. She saw they were aiming at something floating in the middle of the channel. It was sodden and feathery: a dead pigeon turning gently in the water. She stood watching for a moment, then turned back, still smiling.
It was hard living on the cut, she remembered that very well. She knew how they rushed and competed for the loads, how the Number Ones were up against the company-owned boats, how it was work work work for long hours every day. Yet there was a freedom in it too. She stood looking north
along the long, thin strand of water, following its course in her mind. On it went, out through those remote fields where you scarcely saw anyone about, only trees and birds and the sky overhead and the sun glinting in the brasses. What a life that was!
After a time she came towards the dry dock called Tooley’s Yard where boats were taken in for repairs. She remembered Joel telling her about the place. Every so often the boats had to be taken there for recaulking. ‘So they don’t go letting no water in,’ Joel had said. ‘They seal up the seams and blacken ’er bottom to keep ’er watertight.’
She’d never been in the place and she thought she’d slip in and have a look. Just as she was about to go into the yard, two men came out, talking earnestly. One was a portly, middle-aged man with a red face looking out from under his trilby hat. The other, in contrast, was much taller, dark and strong-featured, with black curly hair and a large, slightly beaked nose. The tall dark man’s face looked furrowed with some strong emotion, worry or anger. They passed her, talking earnestly together, and turned off away from the cut.
It was only as Maryann turned into the yard that she realized she recognized the tall, dark man. She stopped for a moment. Where had she seen him before? If she could only think! She looked across Tooley’s Yard and could just see the hull of a boat in the dry dock. Those lovely yellows and greens. And then it came to her, where she knew him from. A boat passing, Joel calling out as they slid beside each other, smiling, happy to see each other . . . the man with dark curly hair was Darius Bartholomew the younger: she was certain of it! Heart racing, she turned and ran in the direction they had gone, but they had disappeared. In any case, what could she say to Darius? He didn’t know who she was, did he?
But she couldn’t resist a look round the yard. It wasn’t a large place – there was a brick shed and the dry dock, which would take one boat at a time, was a long, rather ramshackle building by the cut. She saw a couple of the Tooley’s workers eyeing her up admiringly. She felt as if her skin was prickling. She knew she looked pretty in her blue dress, slim and shapely, black hair tucked under a little navy straw hat with a down turned brim. But she so disliked the feeling of being stared at, sized up in that way.
‘Was you looking for someone?’ One of the men approached her, looming over her.
‘I – I just wanted to see—’ She spoke timidly, but then found the courage to say, ‘That man who just went out, was that Darius Bartholomew?’
The man took his cap off and rubbed sweat from his forehead with his arm. ‘That ’un? Darius the younger. That’s ’is boat, the Esther Jane down there. We’ll be working on ’er next.’
‘That’s the Esther Jane – over there?’ She couldn’t keep the excitement out of her voice. Along from the dry dock she could just see the prow of another boat. ‘Oh – can I go and see?’
The man shrugged. ‘Don’t see why not. Ain’t no one aboard ’er though.’
He left her to walk over by herself, picking her way over the muddy ground. The boat was tied up by the bank, waiting for her turn in the dry dock, where she’d be strapped up while the water was drained out of the dock so that the men could work underneath her. It was with a feeling almost of disbelief that Maryann approached her. There she was, the Esther Jane! And on the roof, curled asleep, a little brown and white dog.
‘Jep?’ She could hardly believe it! He looked up on hearing his name and, jumping down on to the bank, came and licked her hand. ‘Oh Jep – it is you!’ He was a little grey round his sandy muzzle, but still full of life. ‘Oh – is Ada back on board with you now then?’ She was full of happiness and excitement. How could she have left them? How could she have stayed away so long? Still squatting, petting Jep, who was all awriggle with pleasure, she looked over the boat.
‘Hello there,’ she found herself saying softly. ‘So ’ow’re you then, old girl?’
While the boat made no reply, the state of her seemed to speak for itself. The last time Maryann had seen her she was in good repair, freshly painted and spick and span, brasses polished, her hold washed out as often as they could manage between loads. But now what she saw filled her with dismay. She looked a sad, worn-out old lady. The paint was cracking off her, it looked a long time since her brasses had had a rag anywhere near them and she was covered in grime all over. Chances were she was in the same state inside – dirty and heaving with bugs if they hadn’t had time to stove her. In her dismay Maryann immediately felt like jumping aboard and setting to work but she knew she mustn’t. It was clear the Esther Jane had fallen on hard times. Her mind was jumping with questions. What had happened? Why was Darius back running the boat? Where was his father and, above all, where was Joel?
With Jep following her she went back to look for the man who she found in the dry dock, working on another boat called the Venus.
‘D’you know if Mr Bartholomew’s coming back soon?’
The man looked at her over his shoulder. ‘Oh, I should think so. That was one of Essy Barlow’s men ’e went off with. Don’t s’pose ’e’ll stay with ’im long.’
‘Samuel Barlow?’ S.E. Barlow owned one of the carrying companies and she’d often seen his pairs of boats on the cut. ‘’E ain’t selling the Esther Jane?’
‘Seems like ’e might be,’ the man said. ’E could do worse. Times’re tough, everyone chasing about for not enough loads. If ’e sold out to Barlow ’e wouldn’t ’ave to chase the loads ’imself, would ’e?’
Maryann was appalled. She knew how hard old Darius and Joel had always worked to stay independent, to be Number Ones like they’d always been, not tied to a boss, a company. How would Joel feel about this?
‘Can I wait till Mr Bartholomew gets back? I’d like to speak to ’im.’
‘Stay as long as you like.’ The man winked at her. ‘Don’t see anyone complaining, do you? So long as you don’t get under anyone’s feet.’
She went over to the side of the yard. From somewhere near by she could hear the sounds of a forge: a horse being shod. She hoped Darius Bartholomew wasn’t going to be too long. In a couple of hours she would need to set off for Charnwood House, but the way she felt just then she would have waited for ever and damn everything else. Having seen the Esther Jane it was almost as if the past six years had not existed. She was back on the cut with the boat and the people she loved and she was desperate to know what had befallen them. Suddenly it was all that seemed to matter.
Almost an hour later Darius Bartholomew came back. She saw him the second he strode, grim-faced, into the yard. He was a large, striking presence. He looked puzzled and not especially pleased to see someone standing by his boat.
‘Mr Bartholomew?’ she said, even before he reached her.
She found him rather forbidding, in the same way she had often found his father. Those strong, chiselled features seemed to scowl down at her.
‘My name’s Maryann Nelson. I—’ How did she explain? ‘A few years back I lived on your boat – with yer dad and Joel – and Jep here – until Ada went off. . . .’
For a moment he stared blankly at her, then his face softened a fraction. ‘Did you? I remember they ’ad a lass on board for a bit.’
He seemed about to turn away, sinking back into his own thoughts again, so Maryann asked quickly, ‘Only – I wanted to ask after everyone. Your father and Ada – and Joel.’
Darius Bartholomew climbed over into the Esther Jane and stood on the steering platform looking back at her. He shook his head. ‘You won’t be seeing our Ada no more. She were drownded four year ago, God rest ’er.’
‘Ada?’ Maryann gaped at him. ‘Oh no . . . No!’ Not cheeky, vivacious Ada.
‘They was working the Grand Union – right down to the Thames. It’s all wider and faster there, with currents and that. Our Ada was knocked overboard – got swept away. Took ’em days before they found ’er.’ Seeing the tears in Maryann’s eyes he looked down with a sigh. ‘She were a good’un.’
Maryann swallowed, wiping her eyes. ‘And your father?’
She could hardly bear to ask about Joel.
‘I left ’im down at h’Oxford with ’is sister what lives on the bank. What with Joel and the boat in this state I said I’d bring ’er up ’ere one ’anded. He ent a young man. He’s finding the life harder and harder and ’e’s been poorly.’
‘And Joel?’ she breathed.
Darius started shaking his head in that grim fashion again and Maryann felt as if a great pressure was bearing down on her chest. Not him as well. He couldn’t be drownded as well, oh please God, no!
‘Bad,’ Darius said. He seemed almost glad to have someone to whom he could pour out all his troubles. ‘He’s took real sick. He’s been heading for it since the winter, what with ’is chest, but this time it went from bad to worse. I had to get him took away to the ’orspital at Birnigum even though ’e begged me not to leave ’im on the bank. But he was that burning up with fever I couldn’t look after ’im and see to the boat and the loads . . . And with fighting for regler loads and back loads—’ He wiped one of his huge, dark hands over his face. ‘It looks as if we’re giving in – going to Essy Barlow. S’the only way now.’
‘Oh dear.’ Maryann wiped her eyes again. ‘I’m ever so sorry you’ve had such troubles, Mr Bartholomew. I truly am. I know how Joel and your father felt about selling up.’
‘Times move on – what with the roads taking over . . . Some of ’em’re acting like they’ve never heard of the cut these days. I don’t know what can be done, that I don’t.’ He pushed open the cabin door. ‘I’m going to get the stove going and brew up. You stopping for some tea?’
